


Come, Sit

by SunnyDFlower



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hopeful Ending, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Sam | Awesamdude, Sad, Sad Sam | Awesamdude, Tommy's Death Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyDFlower/pseuds/SunnyDFlower
Summary: Sam lets himself wander into a now-to-quite home of a child, lost.Expect... he can hear music, a disc crackling the sounds of Cat while it spins on the player.
Relationships: Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 5
Kudos: 182





	Come, Sit

Sam could admit that coming here was nothing short of weakness. Bone deep weakness that writhed in the pits of his stomach, that hadn't let him hold down anything solid for the last 4 days, that hadn't let him sleep a wink, nightmares plagued with pleading. Tommy pleading to be let out, him pleading to see his face one last time, his crying that turned to quiet whimpers that turned to ice-cold silence. 

He carefully dodged the flowers lain about, Ranboo’s work obviously, he had watched him wandering around town, spaced out, picking up red and white wildflowers, plucking them with such reverence and carefulness. The floors of Tommy’s small hole in the side of a hide smelt new, he knew that Puffy had been around, replacing them from the desecration left from those _stupidfuckingchilddeathcelebrating-_

From Bad and his friends. 

She replaced them with new planks of wood, planks of wood that no longer barred the marks of drops swords, or grooves from where the furniture had sat, no stained from spilled potions, no scuff marks from dirty sneakers. New floors that squeaked under Sam's boots. 

He knew he probably shouldn’t have come but Sam, for just now, needed to be around him, needed his lough laughter and his bratty comments, he needed to hold what little was left of his kid close to his chest or he felt that his heart would stop beating and his breath would stop coming because damn it, _his baby was dead._

Perhaps he should have expected it, that Tommy would come back like his brother, but mentally he still wasn’t over the fact that he was gone at all. Seeing him there, however, leaned up against his aged jukebox, carefully made so long ago, excited to listen to hard-fought for music. In his hand sat one of his disks, the ones he’d had in his Ender-chest when he- 

When he died. 

They were his forever now, no more having to worry about thieving, manipulating bastards or lying or any of the filth and bullshit that poisoned their world, poisoned every resident on these long-forsaken lands. That’s what he clung to in these moments, that Tommy wasn’t here anymore, to been traumatized, again and again, tormented and abandoned. 

Sam supposed that seeing him here bobbing his head to Cat, faintly transparent and just as brutalized as he was when he had had to drag him out of the cell-turned-coffin Sam himself had _nailed him into_ , it meant that that idea of Tommy sitting in a cloud laughing and running around like he once had was nothing but that, an idea, an idea he used to make himself feel better. Tommy was never lucky enough to be spared from the snake eyes life had rolled for him. 

“Hello?” whispered the child, clad in bruises, blood and what looked like a nice, warm, red sweater, the sleeves rolled up like arms, in his hands a black disc with a red center, obviously next on the docket for tonight. “Do I know you? I feel like I should,” he said, bringing his hand up to his chin like he had to ponder. 

“I’m-” his voice wavered, he hadn't spoken in a while. 

“ANYWAYS! Come! Sit! I'm listening to my music disks! They’re quite nice aren't they? I don’t remember where I got them from but I like em a lot!” he flapped his arms around, gesturing to the spot on the floor next to him. “Women like em a lot too you know.” 

“... do they?” 

“THEY DO!! Brilliant, innit? I'm personally a very pog ladies' man so you could learn quite a bit from me my friend... my friend...” His volume lowering, his eyes becoming cloudy, “ _who...?_ Who are you my friend, I know you but... I can't seem to remember your name...” 

“My name is Sam and you're right; I am your friend. In fact,” he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, his voice from cracking “I love you very much, you know that?” he turned to look Tommy in the eyes, but with his current form, he was more looking through him. His hands shook something fierce, all he could see were knuckle-shaped bruises and the dark black circling his blank, pupil and iris-less eye. 

_Blank, white, lifeless eyes._

“I do! As soon as I saw you, I said to myself now _there_ is a guy I can trust, I mean look at him! Regardless, you look very trustworthy my friend Sam. Wait” his giddy smile slanted “why are you crying, my friend Sam?” A ghostly hand came to cup his warm, flesh-bound one “Do you want to change the song?” 

“No,” he buried his hand in his kid’s hand, it felt less like the soft tufts once there, felt more like... goo. 

“No, we can listen to his, why don’t you tell me more about... ladies" 

“Will do my friend!”


End file.
